


Not For All The Chocolate In The World

by Jartiel



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Slash, Strong Language, Violence, Whump, attempts at some humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jartiel/pseuds/Jartiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since acquiring an heir, Wonka's spirits are high, and consequently his sales skyrocket even higher than ever. As a result, bitter business owners seek a means to bring down their unbeatable competitor, once and for all. That year, nobody except the Buckets and Oompa-Loompas knew the terrifying truth behind Mr. Wonka's sudden disappearance. T (violence/strong language). Depp!Wonka.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Agreement

An abandoned shoe factory housed three men swathed in black, each standing side by side next to a large leather presser that had not been oiled or dusted for many years. One man held a smoking cigar between his teeth, puffing out the largest smoke rings in long, even intervals. The other two simply stood and waited, for something they have been waiting for since three weeks ago after they received word that their post had reached its destination.

Through grit-caked windows, a dim beam of light flashed the announcement of their guest's arrival. The hum of an automobile cut off along with its headlights, and the three men could hear the muffled slamming of car doors outside. After another two minutes, the sound of heels could be heard _click-click-clicking_ through the desolate corridor, growing louder as they approached.

Then, the source of the footsteps halted, so that they were standing directly before the three awaiting figures.

"I shall assume you have made your decision," said the man on the left without preamble. There was no exchange of pleasantries, as none of the individuals present in this room were meeting on cordial terms. It was business, and a rather nasty type of business that would be forbidden to speak of on day-lit streets.

"Allow me to begin with this," said their guest, being the recipient of the encrypted letter containing a rather controversial request. He was a tall man of lean build, with a pair of silver spectacles perched over a thin, high-bridged nose. Behind the spectacles were two dark, intelligent eyes that scrutinized everything with a calculative gaze. "What you are trying to accomplish is very dangerous."

"And yet here you are," said the left man. "Surely your trip would have been long enough for you to change your mind and turn around, twice."

"Have you realized the extent to what this could become, should something go wrong? Everybody in the world knows his name, his enterprise. Is it truly worth the risk of becoming international fugitives?"

"Does this mean you wish to take his side?" asked the man holding his cigar. "How curious, given that we are standing before one another right now."

"I don't take sides, Mr. Prodnose," said their guest coolly. "I make investments. And clearly, there are quite a few out there willing to share and agree with your perspectives."

"Many confectioners have been forced out onto the streets," said the cigar man stiffly.

"So have bakers," countered their guest, "and grocers and toy-makers. So have hatters and chefs and dancers and shoemakers." He swept his gaze over his surroundings, at the mound of shoe soles shriveling in a shadowed corner. "I count time with the rise and fall of businesses, my good sirs; it happens every day. And it will continue to do so, with or without the world's biggest chocolate factory running in town."

"Out with it, then," snarled the right man. "If you're so keen on trying to prove all this to be _unreasonable..._ are you here to help us or not?"

"I would not be here if I wasn't," said their guest calmly. "In fact, I came to settle the terms. I myself admit that I've never before been presented such an opportunity of this scale and, well, discussing it through the post would be hardly ideal."

"How much are you looking for, then?"

Their guest tilted their head, appearing to consider the question with care. "Half," they announced quite seriously.

 _"Cripes!"_ shouted the right man, leaping forward. "You are out of your mind!"

"Entirely unreasonable!" agreed the left man angrily.

"You're a fraud!" accused the fuming smoker.

"My dear gentlemen," said their guest, smiling coldly, "make no mistake; this is no meager errand. You are asking me to pay for a service offered by one of the most dangerous organized crime groups in the country. It is not all mine to keep.

"Besides, do look at the figures. What is only half of millions, perhaps even _billions_ of fortune? There is still plenty for all three of you to split and indulge in for a lifetime."

Their guest waited with admirable patience as the three men shifted uncomfortably. They began whispering among themselves, heads huddled together in an attempt to reach an agreement.

"Think you can live with it?" asked one of them men suddenly, lifting his head from their hasty discussion. "It'll be a hefty profit all right, but it's quite the method to earn it."

Their guest laughed out loud, startling the other two out of their hushed arguments. "My good sir, this is not the first time I have been asked to fund a project like this, though I admit our previous target had been fairly... inconspicuous to put it one way. You mustn't worry for the sake of my conscience; I assure you it is quite unnecessary."

"Who was it?" asked another man curiously. "This previous target you mention."

"Some nameless housewife," their guest murmured vaguely. "A quaint little woman, she was. Pity she lost the fight."

"Against whom?"

"A Barrett M82," answered their guest, grinning.

The three blanched.

"While I'm sure these men you've employed possess equipment that is more than capable of handling a couple hundred yards and a glass window," he continued mildly, "it would be quite the unnecessary risk for both of us, if anything were to happen _in_ the factory itself. Therefore, it'd be most wise for you to remove Mr. Wonka to a quieter place, where he and your lovely folks will be granted some... _privacy."_

"Don't you worry about that," said the cigar man sharply. "That is being handled as we speak."

"We will not have you monopolizing this mission," warned the right man. "You are to pay their fees _only._ Afterwards, you stay clear off until it's absolutely certain the transaction has been made, to all our accounts."

"Of course," their guest agreed, bowing. "Pleased to do business with you gentlemen. Do keep in mind that should you have tampered with the figures of my share, I will know right away. And I am not against paying your men for a little overtime, my sirs. Good night to you."

The three in black were alone again, in a factory that was silenced, cold, and devoid of life. There was one more factory that could join this one, they were all thinking darkly.

At last, they could finally begin to construct their rescue boat out of this sea of debt and profitless misery, and Wonka would become their plywood.


	2. Prelude

_Today marked the last day of the vicious January storm, which had come in southbound, sundering the clear sky with thunder and ashen rainclouds. Having lessened their burdens over a miserable little town, off headed the deluge toward distant mountains and in swept a silent, bone-biting chill to take its place, along with a three-foot fall of snow._

Charlie Bucket was a boy of eleven years, one of many others who lived in this town. He would appear to a simple passersby as an ordinary child who was neither extraordinary or special, but that was as far from the truth as anyone got.

Though the town itself was humble, a population quite inferior to that of other cities around, it was not the reason for the rise of its grandeur and fame—for this little town was home to the largest chocolate factory to have ever been built, run by a famous man whose name was known to all folks around the globe.

Willy Wonka, loved and cherished by the world, sold his candies to every corner of the earth, but ran his factory right in the heart of this little city. Wonka's candies were quickly named the best after everyone realized that every piece of sweet confection coming out of those colossal iron gates was the most delectable, exquisite thing to have ever graced their existence.

It came to nobody's surprise when Wonka bars had become the world's best selling chocolates, as everyone sought after them regardless of a sweet tooth. Even the most sour-headed critics had to admit there was an almost magical quality to every Wonka product. No one knew what it was, for it was not something tangible or obtained physically.

Yet, if there was one consistent truth that everyone could agree upon, it was that Willy Wonka's candies were as pure and innovative as the genius himself, and that they were always most delightfully, _positively_ delicious.

Of course, the former of the above mentioned was more popular speculation than an observed fact, for it was lucky if the man was seen in public longer than ten minutes at any given time. Such a thing would naturally hinder one's ability to properly judge someone's character.

However, the world _had_ seen Willy Wonka on that fateful morning of February 1st, where he had welcomed the five lucky children into his chocolate factory. His brief but nevertheless actual outdoor presence drew the telly-watching people of the world towards similar conclusions: the famous confectioner gave off the same aura of brilliant eccentricity and novelty that his inventions did. Of course, most of the crowd gathered just beyond the gates were simply going mad at the slightest possible opportunity of breathing the same air as their beloved chocolatier to have bothered with any other train of thought.

'But what does any of this have to do with a plain little boy?' one might ask. Well, sirs and madams; the point of all this was that this magnificent chocolate factory, which made the best, most magical and delectable chocolate in the world, would soon belong to our beloved _Charlie Bucket._

Eleven years old he may still be, but little Charlie was a very precious and extraordinary one. He himself would have begged to differ, claiming he was neither faster, stronger, nor more clever than other boys his age—and it just might have been true, had it not been for one incident (or rather, a complex series of many incidents all interwoven to form a giant catastrophe). The incident, however catastrophic, would allow Charlie Bucket to discover many things about himself, and prove to the ones he loved the most that he _could_ be faster; he _could_ be stronger and more clever, when it _really_ mattered the most.

So for now, let us return to telling a tale of Charlie's most courageous, yet perilous year:

_Today marked the last day of the vicious January storm, which had come in southbound, sundering the clear sky with thunder and ashen rainclouds. Having lessened their burdens over a miserable little town, off headed the deluge toward distant mountains and in swept a silent, bone-biting chill to take its place, along with a three-foot fall of snow..._


	3. A Busy January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please forgive my grammar, as I am aware that it is not the best.

January used to be a hectic month for the Bucket family. It was always the same long list of inevitable responsibilities, trailing behind the dawn of each new year.

Fortunately, lots of things had changed for the better now that they were living within the great chocolate factory. Mr. Bucket still left for work, Mrs. Bucket still took care of household necessities, and Charlie continued to attend school. However, the biggest looming burden of poverty had been lifted clean off their shoulders and for the first time in many, many years, the Buckets could go about their business with light hearts and genuine smiles.

No longer did they need to depend on the smallest crumb of bread or spilled drop of stew to drastically steer their fates to or from starvation. To live without such worries was truly a blessing, and the Buckets felt it every day.

It was the third, wintrous day of January, and Charlie Bucket was soon to almost officially become apprentice and heir to Mr. Willy Wonka for a two full years. Ever since Charlie and his family had begun living with the chocolatier, there had been very drastic changes made to his daily routine, making him a very busy boy. In fact, he was probably even busier than Mr. and Mrs. Bucket, which was quite something indeed.

After graduating from primary school, Charlie found that his new seventh grade teacher was much less forgiving when it came to their workload. He'd be piled with so much homework every day that the length of his free time was almost always cut in half. And now, even this would be mostly taken away from him since every last available moment he'd have was spent with Mr. Wonka, who had slowly but surely begun showing the factory in its entirety to his heir, nooks and crannies included.

It was arduous but exciting work, and never once did the boy complain or fuss. The role of a chocolatier's apprentice was never to be taken lightly; he remained highly alert and attentive, listening carefully to everything there was to be heard and observing everything there was to be seen.

However, it was evident that Charlie was not the only one nervous about this new development in schedule. Mr. Wonka, clearly not used to doing this sort of thing, jumped and flittered about restlessly every time they embarked on another "private factory tour". It was mostly just the two of them when there were no Oompa-Loompas loitering around, and unable to revert himself to using the same facade of exaggerated cheer on dear little Charlie as he had with the entire Golden Ticket crew, Mr. Wonka would often visibly struggle with keeping certain emotions at bay.

Charlie, for the most part, would politely ignore all the stutters and stumbles, doing his very best to keep the man happy. A bit of careful observation made it clear that Mr. Wonka grew most delighted whenever he made Charlie smile or laugh, so the boy did just that, whenever the opportunity arose.

Not once had he ever needed to fake a reaction though, as all of the factory tours he'd gotten so far had warranted more than enough reasons for such expressions of joy to last several weeks. Every time Mr. Wonka's eyes twinkled just a tad brighter, his anxious smile grew slightly warmer, and shoulders seemed a bit less taut and flight-ready, Charlie's own heart would swell with happiness of his own, thrilled at the prospect of the chocolatier warming up to someone like _him_ —so simple and ordinary and entirely unlike even a fraction of what his mentor embodied.

As such, on this near two-year anniversary of wonderful times at the factory, it would only be natural for one to be excited. However, the boy was currently far from excitement or anticipation for his upcoming birthday in the next few weeks. In fact, he'd barely spared any thought for it at all.

...

Charlie Bucket was slouched uncomfortably over his small desk, writing furiously on his arithmetic worksheet. It had occupied the entirety of his afternoon and still seemed far from being completed. Not only that, but his English booklet from the day before was also spread wide open on the bed next to him, awaiting its turn.

 _Never again will I procrastinate,_ Charlie thought to himself miserably as he counted on his fingers. _I can't afford to be sitting here dividing and subtracting when there's work to be done._

Today was a Sunday, which meant no work for Mr. Bucket. While the nights were cold, the toasty warmth of the factory kept any chills out of their bones and there was no need to worry about shovelling snow or pulling on extra layers. Before preparing dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket gathered round the old grandparents' bed. They called their son down, who leapt up and joined them at once for he was all too eager for a break.

Upon his arrival, Mrs. Bucket smiled warmly. "Hello, Charlie."

"Hi Mum," he said. "Hi Dad, Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George, Grandma Georgina."

"Hello," greeted the grandparents cheerfully.

"So," Mr. Bucket began. "The big day is coming up in a few weeks, eh?"

"What day?" Charlie asked curiously.

"Why, it's going to be your birthday!" exclaimed Grandpa Joe. "It's not every day a young man turns twelve, is it?"

Charlie nearly fell off the edge of the table where he was perched. "Yes," he stammered, dazed at the fact that he'd somehow forgotten the existence of his own birthday. He'd always looked forward to them so much that such a thing would have been unimaginable a few years back. "I don't suppose so."

"Well?" Mrs. Bucket prompted. "Have you thought of what you'd like for your present yet?"

"One candy bar is more than enough," he told her with a smile. "Just like before. It's what I've always gotten so far." Although it had only been because they couldn't afford anything else for the special day, the whole thing now felt like a sort of tradition.

Mrs. Bucket sighed. "Charlie, we would have loved to gift you so many things. Back then, one bar of chocolate was the best we could do, but things are much different now. It's been almost two years since we've moved, so it _must_ be better than all the others you've had."

Charlie flushed almost instantly. "You don't need to do that," he insisted quickly. "Besides, I was already thrown the biggest birthday party of my life last year, remember? All of the Oompa-Loompas were there as well. With this whole factory, I think I've gotten just about everything a boy like me could ever wish for."

Last year, as a result of much begging and protesting for months and months on Charlie's end, he managed to convince his parents, Willy Wonka, and even the entire Oompa-Loompa gang to gift him with nothing but a single chocolate bar. On the day of the party however, sneaky Mr. Wonka had insisted on pointing out that the boy failed to specify exactly what size chocolate he wanted, and Charlie ended up unwrapping the paper to a bar of Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight so enormous that it towered over their heads.

"Yes, but all birthdays are supposed to be special," Mrs. Bucket said kindly. "Sometimes it's not always about the gift itself, but the meaning it holds in its giving. Your father and I wanted to do something nice for you, even if it will probably never be as extraordinary as all of this..." She gestured around herself, meaning the factory.

"You really don't need to," Charlie began to protest again, but his mother hushed him.

"If you can't think of anything at the moment, that's all right," she assured. "We still have a few weeks left! Now, why don't you finish your homework, and then you can go see if Mr. Wonka is joining us for dinner tonight."

"All right," Charlie agreed eagerly, grinning. He dashed back up to his bed where his arithmetic sat where he'd left it. A quick check of the analog clock leaning against the bedframe told him it was ten past four. Charlie scribbled half-hearted answers on the worksheet, unable to muster the patience to check them. The English booklet could wait another day.

Within twenty minutes, he was shouting his goodbyes over his shoulder as he hurried out into the Chocolate Room, and across the meadow to the door leading into the corridors.

When he first began living in the factory, it took him quite a while to acclimate to the chocolatier's bizarre schedules. At first, Charlie had wanted to work their tours around what would be considered a normal day's itinerary, which included the breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and bedtimes. However, he soon discovered that Mr. Wonka's eating and sleeping habits were far unlike Charlie's (or anyone else's), and he was reminded several times a week that he could quite literally call for the man "at any gosh-darned time he felt like".

Still, not wanting to seem disrespectful, Charlie had spent the first few months refraining from seeking Mr. Wonka out during general lunch and dinner hours, and especially past ten o'clock at night. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt or disturb his privacy. These days, Charlie knew not to worry so much about those things. True to his word (and also to Charlie's growing concern), Mr. Wonka never seemed to partake in anything that resembled "private time", and always seemed to be out doing something chocolate-related twenty-four hours a day. Today would be no different.

Once, Charlie and his whole family had been woken by a fanfare of trumpets bellowing through the factory-wide intercom at four in the morning, which turned out to be a technical malfunction on Mr. Wonka's end. Supposedly he had been using a "disconnected" microphone ("It must not have been very disconnected, after all!") to test the volume of his Musical Sugar-Bowl candies all night long.

The boy approached the entrance to the Great Glass Elevator and pressed the button to summon it. Upon the Elevator's arrival, he entered and began the search for his mentor.

Said search did not take very long. As half-expected, Charlie found the person he was looking for in the Inventing Room, leaning precariously over a gargantuan aluminum tub that was partly filled with a blue, bubbling liquid. Mr. Wonka seemed to take absolutely no notice of his visitor whatsoever, so engrossed he was in trying to scrape something off the inside of the tub that he completely missed the way Charlie hovered awkwardly by his side for a full three minutes.

Deciding that waiting to be discovered could possibly take hours, Charlie carefully cleared his throat as quietly and softly and unshockingly as he could physically manage.

"Ahem."

 _"Whistling whangdoodles!"_ yelled Mr. Wonka, jumping off his footstool and almost a foot into the air. Thankfully, he toppled _backwards_ and not _into_ the tub of whatever molten liquid was simmering away, and landed ungracefully with a deafening _crash_ against a plethora of metal pipes. The impact caused dozens of small, bright colored candies to explode out of the many pockets of his plum-colored coat, and scatter noisily across the floor in a great rainbow shower.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie shouted, rushing over to help the man to his feet. "Are you all right?"

"My Jeepers!" cried Mr. Wonka. "You scared the Jeepers out of me!"

"I'm very sorry, I should have been more care—"

"No, no, I've lost my _Jeepers!_ Look, they're everywhere!" The chocolatier scrambled around on his knees, trying to gather all the small candies that had rained out of his pockets. "Help me, please!" The two of them spent the next ten minutes crawling on all floors and scraping up every last candy they could find, even reaching far under some of the machines for the stray ones. By the time they were finished, Mr. Wonka had gathered up all of his Jeepers, but they were both covered head to toe in dust bunnies.

"I'm very sorry," Charlie repeated guiltily, his heart still pounding in his throat. This had not been the first time he'd startled the man like this. Two months ago, Charlie had nearly sent him tumbling straight into a pair of very large, automatic grinders that ferociously crushed huge ice blocks into fine powder. The machine stopped operating the very instant something warm touched its churning gears, but some strands of Mr. Wonka's hair had been sucked in and they ended up having to chop an inch of his locks off, along with a corner from his coat sleeve. And just last week, Charlie had curiously approached a large, minty effigy lying on the middle of a wide surgical table. Right when he began reaching out to touch it, Mr. Wonka had saved him by yanking him back by the collar, a mere fractional second before the entire candy beast suddenly sprang to life and snapped at him with giant, crocodile jaws.

But just as he had countless times before, Mr. Wonka waved his apology away. "No worries, Charlie, no worries at all! I always get a little jumpy when I'm miffed, oh yes. This Stretch-n-Glow Caramel is driving me off the roof! Every time I try to add the corn syrup, it gets all blue and hard in lumps. Who's ever heard of _blue_ caramel, anyway? Ew. And they never melt unless I soak them in liquid gold for about thirty hours. This is the seventh time I've had to replace this tub!"

"Why do you have to replace them?" asked Charlie, standing on the tips of his toes to try and peer over the large rim.

"Because the tub melts too," explained Mr. Wonka. "Not only does the liquid gold melt the lumps of Caramel, it melts the solid aluminum container it's in! Rather inconvenient, I must say."

"Couldn't you use a tub made of something else instead?" asked Charlie. "Say, something that doesn't melt in liquid gold?"

"Why, what an excellent idea! I'll have a new tub of steel made right away, though I am not sure how that'll affect the candy. We'll just have to see!" The chocolatier reached for the dial on the humming generator beside him, which he twisted so the heat died down and the tub stopped its simmering. "Now, does this mean you're free for the rest of the day?"

"Yes!" Charlie answered excitedly. "I've done all my schoolwork for now. We can go exploring again!"

"Fantastic!" said Mr. Wonka, grinning. "There is still so much to show you! Follow me!" They hurried over to the Great Glass Elevator, where it had been standing by near the round entrance to the Chocolate River. Once they entered, a purple-gloved finger pressed a button that read, WHITEY-SMILEYS. At once they were whizzed away on a slantways descent.

"What's this one about, Mr. Wonka?" Charlie asked, craning his neck to read the label near the top of the Elevator.

"Something groovy," answered Wonka, his eyes bright with excitement. "It's one of my most extraordinary inventions!"

Charlie hummed pensively. He thought that every single one of the man's creations was nothing short of extraordinary, but with the way Mr. Wonka was bouncing on his heels, he wondered just what sort of extra fantastical room was awaiting their arrival now.

He had long since realized that while they saw many amazing things during the tour with the other four children, the sights they'd come across that day had not nearly been enough. A few measly hours couldn't have even _begun_ properly addressing the sheer enormity and magnitude of Mr. Wonka's ingenuity. Why, Charlie had been living here for almost two years, and he still had yet to see all the rooms!

"I am still amazed with just how many rooms this factory has," he commented, voicing his thoughts out loud as he studied the rows and rows of buttons. There were still quite a few that they hadn't pressed yet, and most of them were out of his reach at the very top, where the labels were more difficult to read from the height of an eleven year old boy.

"But my dear Charlie, this is hardly all of them!" said Mr. Wonka, his eyes twinkling. "There are tons and tons of other rooms that don't have buttons here. If they did, this entire Elevator would be covered in them from head to toe!"

"Then how do you get to the rooms that don't have buttons?" Charlie exclaimed.

"I use the other Elevators, of course!" answered Mr. Wonka. "Other ones with different buttons on them. Yeah! I just gotta remember which one carries which." He suddenly winced, as if the thought had brought back some less than pleasant memories.

"How many Great Glass Elevators are there?" asked Charlie, flabbergasted.

"I dunno," said Mr. Wonka brightly. "I just kept having another one built, and then another one, every time I ran out of wall space. I've only thought about getting to the right room that I've never really kept track; they all look the same, anyway. Hey, look! My Musical Sugar-Bowls!"

Charlie peered out of the Glass Elevator, and saw that they were indeed passing the room where the Sugar-Bowls were being blown. Only a faint trickle of music was heard before they were whooshed away. "No more wake-up calls at four a.m, then?" he asked jokingly.

Mr. Wonka grimaced with contrite. "I'm sorry, that really had been rude," he mumbled. "They're coming along nicely, I think. I've also got a new set of microphones for the job." They both giggled, while their ride continued on at a fantastic speed.

Suddenly the walls whizzing past them all around changed color from a neutral grey to a charcoal black. The course started to level out of its descent, and the Elevator started to slow down. "We're almost there!" They were whooshed along to the left, then right, then left again.

Finally, they came to a halt around the bend, and the doors slid open with a merry _ding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story is based off the 2005 movie, which showed the Great Glass Elevator only having buttons on one wall. I understand this was probably for aesthetic and cinematographic reasons (having a bunch of buttons on the clear glass would obstruct the viewing of the main actors), but since the book depicts all four walls (and ceiling!) being covered in buttons which, given the sheer size and scale of the factory, is probably more 'correct', I thought 'well all those rooms need to be quickly accessed somehow and if Depp!Wonka hadn't felt like squishing every button into one Elevator then maybe he's got more of them,' haha.
> 
> Reviews are loved!


	4. Employees

"Sir."

Two men standing by at the door stepped aside to let the newcomer in. "This just arrived for you." A note, already opened, was slid across a sleek, mahogany desk.

"Is that so." Behind the desk sat at a solitary figure, one hand tracing the rim of a glass of brandy. "The payment?"

"Half taken care of. The money arrived even before we received the letter."

"My, my... someone is eager," said the man dryly. He picked up the piece of paper, reading the contents with narrowed eyes.

For about five full minutes, there was complete silence. The two guards and the newcomer stood waiting, tension thickening in the air.

Then another thirty seconds later, the paper was set down again.

"Hexton," he said finally. "What did I just read?"

"Oh, I think you understand very well, sir," said Hexton, the newcomer.

"What's the date today?" asked the man. "Someone might be thinking they're funny."

"It's far from April Fool's, sir," Hexton said. "We haven't had anything this exciting in forever."

"... Three candy makers with a sponsor," the man stated after yet another pause. "And another... _candy maker._ "

"Not just _any_ candy maker," Hexton said. "The guy who owns that big-ass chocolate factory, all the way over in—"

"I _know_ who Willy Wonka is, thank you," the man snapped. "And for the record, so does every other goddamn person on this planet. You!" He pointed to one of the door guards. "Get Morano and Craisley on the line. I want news on that Albanian drug cartel." The guard left accordingly, leaving just three people inside the study.

"Does that mean we're not going to take this job?"

"Of course we are taking it," the man growled, downing the rest of his brandy. "Get those passports made—we're going to go visit a chocolate factory, Golden Tickets and all be damned. But most of us are staying close to our friends in Albania; I don't want the whole lot flocking over and causing a scene."

"Of course, sir," answered Hexton, rummaging through his pocket and pulling out a small, colorfully packaged square. He studied it nonchalantly, turning it this way and that. "It's really quite a pity, though. He _does_ make some damn good chocolate." He unwrapped it and popped the candy into his mouth.

"Better start stocking up, then," the man retorted. "Because after we're through this, they'll be long gone off the shelves. These men—who were they again? Slugnose, er—"

"Prodnose, Fickelgruber, and Slugworth, sir."

"I'll need to have a talk with them as soon as we land, so I'll leave it to you to arrange the details of that meetup. Next, the full blueprints of that chocolate factory: mark down every single window visible from a maximum of six hundred yards away. I'll also need a comprehensive file listing every single one of Wonka's movements. _Every_ single one, Hexton, and I mean it. Hell, if he even so much as scratches his nose I want to know about it, including when and where he does it. The sooner we understand his routine the faster we can wrap up and haul ass."

"Obviously, sir," Hexton replied, pouring himself some brandy into an extra glass. "Honestly, this isn't grade school. We've all done this before."

"I won't lie," the man said darkly. "Even for us, this job will be very dangerous. Low profiles, keep sparse and spread out, and use _extreme_ caution. Am I clear, Hexton? There will be _no_ mistakes made."

They were interrupted when a sharp ringing noise erupted from the telephone sitting on the desk.

"Hello," the man answered, picking up the receiver. "Yes, I know—really? More guns? Well, look, Morano—leave Craisley to supply the cartel. I want you out of that country at once, back to base. Oh yes, we do ... a task, as sweet as the most delicious chocolate ever made on this earth..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are loved, as always!


	5. Whitey-Smileys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks for reading!

As soon as they stepped out into the room, Charlie noticed that this place was very reminiscent of the Inventing Room, with a multitude of strange machines hissing and steaming fumes and fogs of all colors into the air. Only this room was lit significantly brighter, and it was much tidier. The air gave off a very clean, crisp smell that was reminiscent to peppermint drops.

They approached one of the white tables on which a small tray sat, and within the tray were rows of round marbles the size of a small penny. On each marble was a wide smiling face engraved onto its glossy surface.

"Whitey-Smileys!" Mr. Wonka cried. "They make your dental braces invisible for up to three hours. You'll have braceless teeth for the really important day outs and not be laughed at!"

"That's brilliant!" exclaimed Charlie. "But people don't _really_ laugh at you for wearing braces, do they?" His mother had been talking about getting them for him a few months back, and Charlie was feeling rather nervous about the whole affair. He didn't think his teeth were _that_ bad... Then again, if there was ever such thing as perfect teeth, Willy Wonka had them, which most likely caused Mrs. Bucket's sudden interest in orthodontics in the first place.

"Oh, my dear boy, of course they do!" said Mr. Wonka. "All because your head is locked in some beastly metal cage for months and months. You'll be a laughing stock for them all!"

"But they've made new braces," the boy protested. "They're smaller now, so that you only have metal bits on your teeth without all the other stuff."

Mr. Wonka shuddered at the word 'metal'. "It's still ghastly business, Charlie. I would stay far away from dentists in general; you never know what they're up to. But for those poor souls who already have, these candies will be their easiest escape route from a life of embarrassment and ruin! Except, uh, they'll have to suffer for a bit longer, because these ten little guys are the only ones left that are made. They're not quite ready to be sold on the market yet, you see."

"Why not?" asked Charlie, picking one of them up for closer examination.

"Because instead of just the braces, they turn your entire body invisible," said Mr. Wonka, sighing. "Fourteen Oompa-Loompas have tried it so far, and the results were always the same. I just don't get why!"

"Invisibility!" Charlie exclaimed. "Is it safe to eat right now, Mr. Wonka?"

Mr. Wonka gave him a funny look. "Of course it's safe, you silly goose! Here, why don't I show you." He plucked the candy out of Charlie's fingers, and waved over the nearest Oompa-Loompa, who was monitoring the temperature gauge on the big oven built into one of the walls. The small man bowed, then took the Whitey-Smiley from the chocolatier and popped it into his mouth.

The effect was immediate. Without a sound, the Oompa-Loompa simply disappeared into nothingness before their very eyes.

" _He's gone!"_ Charlie cried, looking around wildly. "Where did he go?"

"He's still right in front of us!" Mr. Wonka said. "We just can't see him. Hold out your hand, Charlie."

The boy did so tentatively, and he jumped when he felt a tiny, warm hand closing around his outstretched finger. "You can still run into things, and people can still run into you. Whitey-Smileys don't turn you into ghosts, they only make you look like one!" Soon after, there was a faint _pop,_ and the Oompa-Loompa slowly faded back into view. It was a surreal sight. "Thankfully the effect only lasts about ten seconds, but you see why I don't plan on putting them out there just yet. Quite a nasty shock it'd be for everyone, if entire children went popping off into thin air without warning, heh!"

"It's amazing!" Charlie shouted, buzzing with exhilaration. "It's fantastic! It's absolutely mind-boggling! Oh please, may I try a piece too?"

"Whatever for, my dear boy? I've _just_ shown you what it does."

"I think being invisible would be very exciting," Charlie answered with a grin. "Can we play Hide-and-Seek with them, Mr. Wonka? Just one round, I promise!"

" _Now,_ Charlie," Mr. Wonka admonished with an exaggerated frown, although his eyes were twinkling with mischief until finally, he burst into laughter. "Fine, fine! But just once, 'kay?"

With that, the most intense game of Hide-and-Seek commenced in the very room they were in. Both Charlie and Wonka took turns becoming invisible. It was a peculiar feeling that overcame him as soon as the rapidly melting candy hit his tongue; he began to feel pleasantly warm and tingly from head to toe, until he looked down and no longer saw his hands or feet where they should've been.

"I can't believe it," Charlie breathed, rubbing at his invisible arms. It definitely took a while to get used to such a queer and shocking spectacle. As a result, throughout the game Charlie gave himself away quite a few times, and Mr. Wonka had easily found him by tracking the unseeable force that knocked over stray tools and trays.

Fortunately, the boy was very adaptable, and quickly learned how to mask his breathing and reduce the sound of his footsteps to the point where the chocolatier could barely detect him at all during his ten seconds of invisibility. As he was about to run behind the huge, metal water tanks, Charlie was struck with a sudden idea.

Stifling his giggles, he quickly tiptoed up to Wonka's turned back, and pounced with a mighty shout.

" _YE-OWW!"_ Mr. Wonka yelled, whipping around and leaping impressively high into the air as he was tickled fiercely from behind by invisible hands. Charlie popped into sight again, howling with laughter. "Charlie, for _goodness_ sake! I thought you were a terrible, wicked hornswoggler coming to flatten me down with vengeance!"

" _I'm sorry!"_ Charlie gasped, tears in his eyes as he doubled over again. "I just—your face! It was _so funny!"_

Mr. Wonka huffed and pouted, but quickly gave in to the boy's contagious cheer and grinned sheepishly. "That was really fun," he admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Hey, maybe I _could_ put them out like this! I'll just change the name a little bit—"

"Oh, I hope we didn't use up all of them!" Charlie sobered quickly as he remembered how there was only a little batch remaining.

"Eh, there's probably a couple left," said Mr. Wonka off-handedly, shrugging. "Hey, how bad d'you think it will get if people were able to buy one of these at any candy shop in the world?"

"As long you don't stay invisible for very long, I think it'll be fine," Charlie replied with a shrug of his own. He understood why Wonka would be hesitant to release such a powerful product to the public. There were all sorts of wicked people in the world, and he knew that the Whitey-Smileys could potentially be used by those with less than savory intentions. "To be honest, I did think of something like this a while back, as well. A candy that's able to hide you from everyone in plain sight."

Mr. Wonka, who had been staring pensively at the wall, suddenly whipped around at this. " _What?!"_ he spluttered, grabbing the boy's thin shoulders. "Why on earth did you not _tell_ me, Charlie!"

"I... I thought it would be silly," Charlie confessed, taken aback at this rather violent outburst. "You're always coming up with such wonderful things... mine could hardly be of any worth compared to all of that."

To his great surprise, Mr. Wonka looked positively horrified at this statement. "Nuh-uh! None of that kerfunkel!" he exclaimed, shaking his head firmly. "That sort of thinking will get you absolutely nowhere!"

"I'm sorry," the boy began to say automatically, but Mr. Wonka's grip on his shoulders tightened ever so slightly.

"Charlie, listen to me," Wonka began earnestly, his eyes brighter and more sincere than ever before. "You have all the mind-blowing, creative potential that I could never, _ever_ dream of possessing my whole life. If you have an idea, you must share it! Otherwise, we could miss the chance of inventing something whiffling and wonderful! From now on, if you think of something—anything!—then you run straight to me and we can talk about it, 'kay?"

"Okay," Charlie murmured, still slightly dazed at the passion he could feel radiating off the chocolatier. He could tell Mr. Wonka meant every single word, which astonished him even more.

Did the man truly think he was capable of such valuable creations? Charlie, despite growing much closer to him than ever before, had still continued to draw a line between his and Wonka's ideas, labelling the difference as the inventions of a genius mind and a mere child's wishful thinking. But here they were with said genius still holding tightly onto the boy's shoulders, claiming with such certainty and resolution that he was just as extraordinary. It was a difficult notion to grasp, and it left Charlie with a light, fuzzy feeling in his tummy. "I promise I will."

Mr. Wonka beamed. Before he had a chance to say anything however, an Oompa-Loompa appeared almost out of nowhere and tugged his employer's trouser leg for his attention. The man crouched to listen as the tiny worker whispered something very fast into his ear.

Even now, it was still quite a mystery as to what language the Oompa-Loompa was using in cases like these. To the boy's knowledge, Oompa-Loompish mostly consisted of signage and barely of audible, spoken words. Though he'd lived here for almost two years, he had yet to have a one-on-one conversation with any of the small workers so far, as he only ever saw them during the private factory tours and they were always busy with their tasks to chat much.

"Jokes", Mr. Wonka had told him when he asked something he'd always wondered. "Most of the time when they talk to each other, they're telling jokes. And when they're not joking, they're talking about cocoa beans and chocolate. Whatever it is, it's always a merry topic."

But now, whatever this Oompa-Loompa had to say apparently wasn't so merry. Charlie, who was watching the current exchange, noticed immediately how Wonka's expression gradually shifted and wore down until his smile had melted into something much more grave. At this point, the boy even saw a crease beginning to form between the dark brows.

It was not the same kind of frown he'd see Wonka regularly make. _Normally,_ it would be a big frown, accompanied by wide eyes and energetic gestures and speeches. This however, was all silence and a serious sort of expression that looked entirely foreign on the chocolatier's face. Despite himself, Charlie felt a tiny spark of worry ignite in his chest.

When the Oompa-Loompa had finished speaking, Wonka did not rise. He did not spring back up immediately to inform Charlie of whatever it was that he'd been told, like every other time. In fact, still bent low to accommodate the height difference, it was as if he'd forgotten about his child companion at all. One might have thought that he was experiencing a flashback again, but Charlie knew this was not quite the case. The man was watching the ground as if it were a volatile experiment, and he was waiting for something to go _KA-BOOM_ at any minute.

Thankfully, this silence did not last very long. No more than a few moments later, as if shaken out of his queer stupor by some unknown force, Mr. Wonka blinked and turned to the Oompa-Loompa again. "Okay, I'll be right over." The little worker bowed, and marched off just as quickly as he'd appeared.

It was only then that Wonka finally turned his attention to his heir. He straightened up with a huge smile that was so spectacularly fake, even the poor boy felt his own cheeks ache from simply looking at it.

"I, ehm... looks like we'll have to cut this day short, Charlie." His eyes kept darting nervously around the room, never quite meeting the boy's gaze. "Something important just came up, you see—too important to be ignored, eh-heh. I really mustn't keep it waiting, y'know?"

"That's all right," Charlie replied immediately, keeping his voice light and chipper in an attempt to keep Mr. Wonka at as much ease as possible. Concern overrode disappointment, but he held himself back from asking any questions. It was evident that the chocolatier did not plan on sharing anything as of yet, and he trusted his mentor to do so at the right time. "Oh, Mr. Wonka!" he called, as the man was already beginning to shuffle away.

"Yeah?"

Charlie hesitated, uncertain if it the request was being made in bad timing or not. "Will you be coming to dinner this evening?" he asked rather timidly. He'd only _just_ remembered to ask, and he was already berating himself for being so forgetful.

To his relief, Mr. Wonka's lips twitched into a small, genuine smile. "Sure, Charlie," he agreed after a minimal pause, seemingly arriving to some internal decision as he nodded once. "I'll be there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are loved as always! ^^


	6. A Casual Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the extremely late chapter! I had a change in my schedule along with the start of a new semester, so in between school and volunteering I had almost no time to myself these past months. 
> 
> It's been a while since I've written Wonka, so I hope he hasn't turned out too differently from how I'd originally started. I may have accidentally mixed up 2005!Wonka with the book!Wonka at certain points, but in my defence, the Willy Wonka in my head has always been a sort of healthy mix of the two ^^

Dinner at the Buckets with Willy Wonka was a peculiar affair that night.

The chocolatier greeted Charlie's parents and grandparents with the same familiar enthusiasm, like all other evenings. The food was delicious, and everyone at the table was enjoying it immensely.

Yet, as Charlie carefully watched Mr. Wonka out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that something about today's dinner most definitely was off—and the boy would bet all of his weekly allowance that it had something to do with the information the Oompa-Loompa had brought earlier.

It was not the relative silence coming from the man, who'd always been politely reserved and kept mostly to himself at gatherings such as these. No, it was the almost mechanical way Mr. Wonka handled every situation one could possibly encounter during suppertime. It was as if he was on autopilot, letting his wide, plastic smile and dazzling white teeth do all the social work. He sawed through his meal with bizarre, robotic precision, yet somehow managing to appear like he wasn't quite present while doing so. Once, he even stabbed a bit of potato with the wrong utensil and didn't seem to take notice of people's stares as he brought it to his mouth.

"Everything all right, Willy?" asked Mrs. Bucket kindly. "Is the food not to your liking?"

"Nonsense, Mrs. Bucket!" Mr. Wonka swivelled around to face her with that award-winning smile. "Your cooking is as exquisite as ever."

Mrs. Bucket glowed at the praise, but Charlie was too busy noticing the very faint but still visible twitch in the man's dimples from this new angle. While his family may have remained blissfully oblivious, Charlie had come to learn some (not all) of the most subtle signs in Mr. Wonka's expressions that distinguished his moods. For example, the smallest shift in a smile could signify a drastic switch from happiness to grief. Wonka could be laughing but Charlie could see when the mirth, while lighting up his whole face, was devoid in his eyes.

However, if there was one thing that stayed a constant in Charlie's observations, was that Wonka only reacted to things that seemed obvious. Whether he was simply oblivious to the slighter changes in atmosphere or blatantly ignoring them, the chocolatier would mostly respond to social cues that were laid out in plain sight and not woven between the subtext. Thus, the most baffling part of this whole evening so far was that Charlie could not for the life of him figure out just exactly _what_ was bothering the man. They had shared plenty of dinners beforehand, and there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about this one that would cause such a change.

He tried to think of possible things the Oompa-Loompa could have said earlier, and if it would be enough to affect Wonka this much. Just what sort of news could induce such a lack of expression in—

Oh, _there_ it was.

Charlie blinked at Wonka again, who was suddenly back to his calm and jovial self. It was as if the past forty minutes of autopiloting never even happened. Had Charlie not been observing like a hawk this whole time, he would have been completely fooled. No small measure of satisfaction was felt at being one step ahead of someone who possessed frighteningly remarkable acting skills. Unfortunately, seeing Wonka act perfectly normal did nothing to soothe his nerves. In fact, it only confirmed his suspicions that something was indeed, spectacularly wrong.

"Quite the busy day at the factory," Mr. Bucket was saying. "Five engines busted within the first two hours—they really ought to upgrade those transmissions, what with candy business booming and all." He threw a knowing, playful look at Wonka. "I swear, it feels like the people are buying toothpaste by the bulk these days."

"Surely Mr. Wonka can invent some new candy that won't give children any cavities," Grandpa Joe said. "Isn't that right?"

"Why of course!" Wonka answered cheerfully. "Actually, you'll be surprised at how many candies I've put out there that are cavity-free. And yet teeth are still rotting left, right, and centre."

"Why do you think that is?" asked Mr. Bucket.

"Oh, it can be a many different array of things," Wonka said, "and all of which, ultimately, is none of my beeswax."

"But you're a candy maker!" Grandpa George grumbled as Grandpa Joe attempted to speak. "Candies cause cavities!"

"A candy maker makes candy," Wonka explained. "The cavities are a choice made by the children."

"Children don't _choose_ to get cavities," Grandpa George said, snorting. "What sort of fool would simply go and say, 'by golly, what I wouldn't do for a rotten tooth'?"

"It is very much their choice, and theirs alone," Mr. Wonka said calmly. "Cavities can be prevented entirely if the teeth owners just took the initiative to do so. Unfortunately, my dear sir, responsibility is a much-detested detail in life that is often overshadowed by negligence and apathy, characteristics found in all repulsive boys and girls who are too lazy to brush their teeth every night and day."

Grandpa George harrumphed but fell silent, and everyone returned to their meal for another few minutes. Charlie, however, suddenly lost all appetite for the delicious roast chicken and corned beef on his plate. It wasn't even so much the fact that Wonka's last ramble was spoken as if reciting something he'd spent a great deal of time committing to memory, without caring much for the actual meaning the words entailed.

No, that wasn't it; Charlie focussed intently on Wonka who'd returned to his machine-like state, but this time with an odd stiffness to his face, as if suddenly he was extremely uncomfortable with himself, or perhaps from sitting with the Buckets round the same table for so long. Whatever it was, the man was making a great deal in pretending to eat while not actually doing so, rearranging his food in just the right way to fool the casual onlooker.

While Charlie was one of those onlookers, he certainly wasn't doing it casually. There were now a dozen questions sitting on his tongue that itched to be asked, but he simply couldn't do it here with the rest of his family.

He pushed his own peas around for a bit, wondering just how he was going to get through this one. No doubt the chocolatier would claim he was busy and leave as soon as the chance arose. Since Charlie's tour had ended early, he would not have a chance to talk to the man until tomorrow. That would put too much time in between now and their next conversation, which just wouldn't do.

Charlie thought long and hard, until everyone began to reach the bottom of their wine glasses and began to clear the table.

"Mr. Wonka," the boy said slowly, as Mrs. Bucket left the table to fill the sink. "About what you said before... I actually think I have a really good idea for a new candy we could test. I'd like to talk to you about it now, if you can."

Mr. Wonka's artificial calm dimmed very subtly as he processed this request. He inhaled through his open mouth in order to say something, but Charlie didn't let him. "I've been sitting on it for weeks, actually," he continued bravely. "It's sort of like—er, a party accessory. And I was thinking maybe, we could have it up for my birthday? Since it's coming up soon—it'd be really nice to see something of mine put up."

"Oh, Charlie, that's wonderful," gushed Mrs. Bucket, missing the way both mentor and apprentice drowned in uncomfortable tension that came from two entirely different sources. "I'm so happy to see you finally putting some thought into the day!"

He hated using the guilt card on Wonka like this. Normally, Charlie would have never used his birthday as an excuse to try and get something, for such an act was entirely too reminiscent of children like Veruca Salt. Charlie was nothing like her, and all the adults in the room knew it. Nonetheless, the boy stared openly with the most eager, innocently hopeful look he could muster. Wonka squirmed, obviously waging an internal battle as he stood frozen by his chair, already half-reaching for his cane.

But Mr. Wonka was a kind man, and while Charlie loathed taking advantage of his kindness, he also knew that this was perhaps the only thing that might get them even five minutes of privacy right this moment. Just now, it looked like the man had been ready to bolt the minute it was deemed socially acceptable. Despite the way his stomach sank at the blatant emotional manipulation he'd just pulled on his beloved friend, Charlie knew he'd won.

After seeming to struggle between a variety of different reactions, Mr. Wonka finally decided on a smile, strained as it may have been. "Sure thing, Charlie! We can talk about it in your new room."

After Charlie and his family moved in, Mr. Wonka had commissioned personal living quarters for each of the Buckets in the factory. Each room was bigger than the space in their house put together and was perfectly designed and tailored to suit every individual taste. Charlie smiled back, fighting against the sinking feeling in his gut.

"I'll uh, I'll meet you there then," said Wonka, straightening his hat and brushing off invisible dust from his sleeves. "I'm sure you have cleans to plate—I mean, plates to clean. Yeah. I'll just..." He giggled nervously, and then all but dived out of the door.

Charlie stopped himself from sighing just in time as Mrs. Bucket turned a concerned eye towards him. "Not even a single one of his usual good-byes," she remarked. "Poor fellow seems very stressed. You haven't been giving him a hard time, have you Charlie?"

"Of course not, mum," he answered, while thinking wryly, _oh but you'd be surprised at what I just did two seconds ago, mother._

Mrs. Bucket smiled. "Don't worry, I know you haven't. Heaven knows what some parents would give for a well-mannered, non-clingy boy like you. Go on, I can take care of the table with your grandparents tonight."

"Thank you," Charlie said, trying to sound and look excited.

With wooden steps weighed with questions and their conflicting nature, he left for his new room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually ended up cutting a chapter in half because the second half isn't written the way I wanted it, and I thought it'd be best if I posted this part first (before I end up going crazy haha)  
> Updates will most likely not be regular due to dumb things in life, so again I apologize in advance. Still, I would very much appreciate reviews! ^^


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